One Room
by shattered petal
Summary: After that night, Olivier hated hotels. -Miles/Olivier
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: One Room  
><strong>Genres<strong>: Romance/Humour  
><strong>Rating<strong>: T  
><strong>Couple<strong>: Miles/Olivier

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><p><span>One Room<span>  
><strong>Chapter 1.<strong>

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><p>After that night, Olivier hated hotels.<p>

The ceiling was too white. It reminded her of whipped cream sprayed over hot chocolate, which only made her feel sick. She rolled onto her side, inhaling his scent, feeling the warmth of the space he once vacated. The room was stuffy but she couldn't be bothered to stand up and open the window.

Her reasons for staying at a hotel were justified. Skipping into the Armstrong Manor for a bedroom was neither here nor there, so she had no option but to book a room, although her plans prior to the alcohol were that she would have the room _to herself_. Somehow Major Miles managed to collapse into said room with her.

Again: she had her reasons.

And, for the moment, Olivier wanted to believe just _alcohol_ was her reasons.

Roy Mustang being Roy Mustang decided to organise a little do before soldiers such as herself returned back to their headquarters and remained there until begged. Olivier wouldn't have tagged along if her subordinate didn't encourage her to, and with sheer reluctance she showed her face.

After giving a rather miserable greeting to the host and his darling Lieutenant, Olivier retreated to a corner and sat there with a bottle of alcohol, watching ridiculous military soldiers throw happy conversations with the becoming-Brigadier General Mustang. Unfortunately Olivier was more popular than she hoped, and received plenty of company, but it didn't take too long for said company to realise she _wasn't _the conversing type.

Miles vanished only minutes after arriving. Somehow the quarter-Ishvalan managed to be dragged into the crowds and be welcomed into gripping conversation, obliviously abandoning his Major General. She would manage, of course, with her alcohol. Olivier wasn't "depressed" as such. In fact, she found the mood pathetic. However after the events of The Promised Day her heart did throb with guilt and sorrow.

If she were to be honest, Olivier had lost a handful of men. She wasn't entirely used to this situation, and when it hit it hit her hard. Especially when she lost one of her most loyal soldiers and close friend. Captain Buccaneer didn't seem like the type to pass on. When she was informed of his parting, it struck Olivier quickly how easily a human could be killed. It was terrifying.

By ten in the evening she felt tempted to pat herself on the back for staying so long. She would have benefited more elsewhere. When the soothing music began to play and soppy couples decided to enter the floor, Olivier decided this was her cue to leave. She didn't have to search far for Miles though. He came stumbling over, a crooked smile plastered over his face.

She knew Miles well. She knew he wasn't a drinker. Which meant she also knew he was a lightweight. Her subordinate undoubtedly only drank a pint, but that was enough for his mind to go loopy and find the confidence to approach his commanding officer.

When he asked her to dance Olivier said "no".

'Sir. Have you ever heard the phrase "when an opportunity arises, take it"?'

She narrowed her eyes. 'I'm not even sure that _is_ a phrase, Miles.' His dopiness was actually entertaining and she quite liked her Major this way. However at work she wouldn't approve. 'Go dance with someone else for all I care. I'm leaving.'

Olivier was convinced he was past the sober line when he claimed her wrist. Miles didn't flinch upon the contact either. 'I _have_ danced with some people.' He then began to check people off with his fingers: 'Hawkeye, a couple of military women, Mustang––'

'What?'

'Mustang's _sister_, sir.'

'Ah. So you've danced with the entire female population within this room then?'

'Apart from you.'

She watched him for a while. Olivier wasn't fond on dancing. She had suffered enough embarrassing dance sessions when she was younger. Oh the horrific days she was forced to wear a dress.

But the way Miles was looking at her. It would be rotten of her to walk away and disappoint his succession, however there were limits between them. Heck, what was dancing going to do anyway and it wasn't as if Hawkeye and Mustang were keeping their hands to themselves! _If they can do it, then why can't I?_

Unsure whether this was to redeem herself, the effects of the alcohol or just _wanting_ to do this Olivier took his hand and followed.

He was a much better dancer than she liked to believe. Given he had drunk himself stupid, Miles was actually quite smooth with his footwork and his cool presence eased her.

And that was how it all started. Olivier thought Mustang and Hawkeye would be at it, given they couldn't seem to take their eyes off each other that night, but, once again, Armstrong was proved wrong... by herself.

It was an hour past midnight when they left. Through their short journey to the hotel Olivier had previously booked, their hands remained clutched together. Maybe they were doing this so they could support each other. After all, the alcohol was beginning to churn in Olivier's belly and her vision wasn't _this_ bad usually.

Why she didn't pay for another room Olivier would ponder over the next morning. In that moment, she couldn't care less and escorted Miles up the steps into her apartment before shoving him inside, locking the door. The male officer stretched, running a hand through his hair before falling against the wall.

'Is it me or is it hot in here?'

'It's just you.' Olivier took hold of his hand and a little roughly pushed him onto the bed. He sat on the end, eyelids half shut, body toppling to the side. She helped him out of his military coat and shirt, throwing them carelessly to the side. Just as she did that, her hand grazed over his firm chest and she paused.

Never had Olivier fantasised over her men. She was obsessed with other things –– more political and work-based. However she certainly approved with what she felt. Miles was a strong man, she knew that, but she didn't know there was a _very_ attractive body beneath the blue cotton. Should she feel bad for not wondering over the mysteries of her soldiers?

She swallowed. Miles was right: it _was_ hot in here.

'Let me fetch you some water.' Olivier sighed, realising Miles _should_ be in trouble. Yet scolding would have to wait. There were other matters at hand and after everything the two had been through, who cared for yelling and being appropriate? Grabbing a glass from the cupboard and pouring in tap water, she closed her eyes, realising she needed sleep desperately.

When she passed Miles his glass, he took hold of it but her hand also. Olivier was about to pull away when he spoke: 'How are you feeling, sir?'

It was a very simple question, but for some reason Olivier took it to heart. Her form trembled and she wished Miles would let her go. 'Fine.' He caught her eye and she looked away. If there was one thing she hated about herself it would have to be her eyes. No matter how hard she tried, the person who could analyse and read quickly would _know_ her inside and out. Her eyes were a giveaway.

'I don't think you are.'

'I think you're drunk.'

'I think you need to talk to me,' he whispered.

'I think you need to shut up.'

Miles gave in, releasing her. Olivier held her freed hand and kept her eyes on him. He drank his water sip by sip, allowing the pure liquid to cleanse his mind. After a while she reached and removed his shades before pulling out the tie to his hair. Long, white strands fell to his shoulders and, again, Olivier paused.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but she had never felt so attracted to a man before. Miles was gorgeous, and she felt diminished. His red pupils met hers and he frowned, eyes beginning to focus, his body strengthening. The tension was indeed sobering, especially for him. He had never witnessed this woman so close.

She shouldn't have stayed. But she did.

Olivier began to wonder if it was out of loneliness she kissed him. A close friend was gone and her second-in-command would soon be leaving to refurbish a corrupted land. She would be alone. It wasn't abandonment, but she hadn't a clue what would happen to him. Maybe it was fear. Maybe. Although Armstrong wasn't the fearing type.

During the time, it didn't matter. He didn't pull away and everything just made perfect sense whilst their limbs tangled together and they found each other. Even fatigued with alcohol Miles was hesitant and nervous. Olivier had to guide him most of the time, but he managed to catch on quickly.

She liked him close. She wanted him closer, and even when she pressed him to her, her legs wrapped around his waist, he wasn't _close enough_.

Her wounds hindered their lovemaking session, but it only made them think more and refocus. There was something about this which was right yet horrific. She knew by the end she would be confused. However Olivier didn't stop and neither did he.

'Don't go.'

Two words which meant so many. She mentally cursed herself for blurting something so pathetic and ridiculous out, but it would only hurt if she said nothing. Olivier had to speak for their sake. His smile made her ache and she hated herself for feeling this way. Miles had the courage to hold her close to him and whisper a promise he wouldn't leave.

He would though, of course. He was a realistic man, and only once did he decide to live in a fantasy with her.

Thinking back to the event now, dozing on her side, Olivier pondered whether she should have said anything at all. His "promise" only made things more complicated and worse between them. Then again she shouldn't have stayed _anyway_. Heck, if Olivier was even sober enough to book another room none of this would have happened.

A groan escaped her lips when she finally woke up properly. The Major General noticed she had rolled into the space Miles once vacated and she huffed, amused but hurt he had actually gone somewhere without informing her.

It was just sex.

Of course. Olivier wasn't a sucker for anyone, and intimacy wasn't something she took as an invitation to enter a romantic relationship. Anyway law got in the way, and they were lucky to have escaped this.

Slipping on her military uniform which, somehow, had ended up all over the room, the commanding officer began to think of where Miles went. There were many places. For all she knew he might have gone for good. Her heart stopped. No, Miles wasn't like that and why would he do that anyway?

He would be completely lost without her.

She hated herself for smirking at that.

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><p><strong>author's note<strong>: There is more to come, although this shall be a short fiction, I think. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and feedback is always appreciated. I wasn't sure whether to rate this as M or not, but the lemon wasn't too graphic I don't think. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**author's note**: Thanks for reviewing **Azulic Blade**,** RGaijin** and** Fatal Mars**. I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

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><p><span>One Room<span>  
><strong>Chapter 2.<strong>

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><p>The second time Olivier considered to be more of a disaster. She was a smart and sensible woman, aware of her limits with her men. Somehow, though, Miles managed to disrupt her commanding presence and break apart the shield. It infuriated her. Of course, said infuriation didn't hit until the morning afterwards.<p>

It wasn't as if she _didn't like_ being with him. In fact, the last time she had felt so complete and marvellous was... Well, she couldn't even remember. He managed to satisfy her in ways no one did before. Miles was a good man. He was comforting, charming and kind. He _understood_ her. Olivier failed to find someone of the opposite sex who _understood_ her. It took time and dedication to understand what mess of a woman she was.

North City was hardly anything worth tourism. Not only was it fatal to the common Amestrian, but the only buildings worth visiting were the hotels and bars and they weren't exactly in top shape. Olivier rarely dragged herself towards the bar. Despite popular rumour, Olivier wasn't a drinker. Her taste for alcohol barely existed. Thus, she managed to get herself tipsy with just two pints of cider. Fortunately there was someone with her to halt the humiliation. Roy Mustang somehow encouraged the blonde to have a sip of alcohol, and she was oblivious to the fact more glasses were being swerved her way.

They were supposed to have a meeting. Olivier would curse herself later for forgetting what the meeting was about. Of course Mustang had ulterior motives and decided to drink themselves silly. However the man wasn't a lightweight, like herself, so was still capable of standing on his own two feet.

Placing her half empty glass down, Olivier was about to follow when a familiar figure approached from the open doorway. Miles didn't look all too pleased to observe his commanding officer in a drunken stupor. He sighed heavily, cocked an eyebrow Roy's way and was soon before Olivier, taking hold of her arm.

When she met his gaze she saw concern and a pang of guilt stabbed her heart. He was _worried_ about her. This in itself was humiliating. Miles was her second-in-command. He was _below_ her. It was ridiculous he was feeling sympathetic. Olivier didn't want pity, dammit. She was a grown woman. She could take care of herself.

Grabbing hold of his collar and kissing his lips was an odd way of showing her maturity. Mustang had possibly left she didn't know; she didn't care. Miles' touch comforted her immensely, igniting a warmth, loving his firm chest against hers. A light, little moan escaped her lips when he pulled away at once.

'Sir, you're _drunk_.'

And then she was laughing heartily. 'You were drunk _last_ time.' Olivier pondered for a second, thinking he might get the wrong impression. An eye for an eye wasn't how she went through life.

'I need to take you to the Fort,' Miles said, managing to hold back the urge to scold her. She exhaled slowly, watching how his hand took the glass, their fingertips brushing together sending a wave of emotions flourishing inside her. Miles shouldn't have this effect. He was just a soldier. 'Before you do anything you'll regret.'

'Oh you mean like last time?' She cocked an eyebrow, pulling a crooked smile. Miles stared at her. '... D'you think I took advantage of you in the hotel, Major? Is that it?'

'No, sir, of course not... Dammit... I...' He jarred his teeth, unsure himself. 'It doesn't matter, does it? What happened happened.'

Olivier pulled him to her again, and this time he responded, kissing her with a furious passion, pushing away the law and every other agonising sign which told them to _stop_. Almost immediately Olivier was lost in him –– it was the alcohol's fault, she'd tell herself later –– arching her back, wrapping an arm around his neck, forcing him against her roughly.

This little incident only made the woman more confused with _what_ they were. Subordinate and commander _didn't_ or _shouldn't_ be exchanging such wild affections in public. Heck, they shouldn't be doing this _in general_. Olivier was always capable of pushing away her desires so why not now? What goodness did he bring her?

Why was she running back for more?

In the end it sounded like a silly fairytale novel, minus the sex.

Which felt even more fantastic than last time. She had him completely that evening, and they both knew it. She refused to cave in until utterly exhausted, and she hated herself for not feeling satisfied afterwards. Obviously fucking him wasn't enough. There was something else she wanted from him, but Olivier couldn't put her finger on it.

He had the dignity to wake her the next morning. When the phone rang, Olivier shot upright, and blinked several times, attempting to regain her memory. However watching Miles pull on his clothes was enough to confirm what had happened. She didn't speak to him.

Instead she reached for the phone and pressed it to her ear.

_What time is it...?_

Roy's voice hardly brightened her day.

If there was anything she could give Miles credit for it would be the fact he failed to show any signs of their intimacy when working. She appreciated him not mumbling when talking to her, or acting awkwardly. Obviously their two evenings together was strictly between them. He spoke to her how he usually did. And for some reason this also bugged her.

It was all her fault for starting it anyway!

Hell, she shouldn't have gone to that asshole's little do in the first place.

For once the blaring drill made her happy. Finally there was a distraction from her Major. The last time there had been an attack was months ago. It was certainly appealing to know Drachman bastards were giving them another shot.

Her men knew what to do, naturally. After days and days of going through the same routine, they were already firing against their enemy before she reached the roof. The sound of brick breaking and bombs exploding from afar made her grin crookedly. This beat fantasising about Miles any day.

Refusing to miss out, the Queen set aflame her own canon, the ball darting straight for a crowd of Drachman soldiers. They flew apart, limbs detached and screams echoing the battlefield. Idiots. Their lack of skill amused her greatly and it was clear their new leader was even worse than the last.

It lasted several minutes. Blood smothered the snow, arms and legs dropped here and there. It was an ugly but laughable sight. Olivier straightened up, and swerved on her heel to return back inside. Just as she moved something sharp whizzed past her ear and stabbed the soldier behind.

Her ear dripped with blood, but she ignored it, more concerned for the man who was harmed.

Olivier's heart dropped so fast, blood rushing from her head.

'Miles?'

_Why him? **Why**?_

A bullet rang nearby, killing the Drachman who managed to survive.

The Major toppled backwards, the harpoon puncturing his lung, red liquid pouring down his military uniform. A combination of curses whirled inside Olivier's mind whilst she approached him, trembling, suddenly very, very scared. His breaths were horrifyingly shallow. She could _feel_ the amount of effort he had to make to keep breathing.

Finally she moved, cupping his face in her hands, before turning to the Bears. Olivier was hardly conscious of her subtlety when she ordered a few to help her lift the man downstairs. The doc was instantly grabbing the correct equipment the moment she saw the Major enter. The harpoon looked ghastly in the light, and when Miles was carefully placed onto the bed, Olivier was stunned by what she saw.

Blood trickled down his lips and his eyelids were barely open.

_If you die, I'll bring you back to life and kill you again myself_.

Olivier was furious when she left. Furious with Drachma, furious with Miles, furious with _herself_. If only he had moved an inch to the side, he would have been fine. If only she hadn't moved _towards him_. It was obvious the asshole had aimed his harpoon at her, not Miles.

There was no point playing the blame game.

She shivered once entering her office. Shivered. The Queen of ice _shivered_. What a disappointing sight. But Olivier couldn't control herself. She had lost so many men; she had lost a friend only weeks before. To lose another––

Was Miles even a friend?

Had she started to grow feelings for him?

Why? Nothing had happened. She had slept with him, and that was all.

Her ear was still bleeding. Ripping off her gloves and military jacket, Olivier proceeded to the small bathroom and washed her face, wrapping the wound in plaster before pulling out a seat and grabbing her remaining paperwork. She needed to focus on something. Get her mind off the man in the ward, currently having a harpoon pulled out of his lung.

Olivier dropped the pen.

He wouldn't be capable. Miles needed to be active to be a soldier of the military. The duties she gave him required a lot of movement. He was useless now. If he even managed to survive...

- _Shut up!_

He would survive. Of course he would.

Dismissing him would be inevitable though.

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><p>It was three o' clock in the morning when someone came knocking on her door. Accidentally Olivier fell asleep at her desk, refusing to go to bed in case news would be announced about Miles' health. At once she was on her feet, toppling a little from the sudden action. Olivier opened the door and swallowed when faced with the doc. The woman's coat was splattered in blood and she looked incredibly flustered.<p>

However a knowing, small smile stretched over her face.

'Miles survived.'

A breath of relief escaped Olivier's lips. 'Good.' It was more than "good". The General did well to contain her happiness.

'However...' Sherry paused. 'You might want to come see him.'

Olivier didn't hesitate. Closing the door behind her, she followed the woman down the hallways and into the medical room downstairs.

Despite its gruff nature, Briggs' doctors were most hygienic and could perform surgeries better than anyone at Central City. This was necessary though. The injuries at the Fort were far worse than in Central.

Miles was awake, but just. He lay bare chested, a sheet over his lower body. A large bandage was wrapped around his chest, blood ebbing through. Sweat glistened over his forehead, and he was still breathing shallowly, his chest rising and falling heavily. But he was alive. And capable of staying alive.

Olivier brushed past the doc and placed a hand on Miles' cheek. The Major opened his eyes completely and met her gaze, before twitching a smile. 'That was a bitch,' his voice was strong. Miles frowned. 'You look terrible.'

'Speak for yourself,' Olivier countered, and it was hard to hold back a smile of her own. Never had she felt so happy to see him. It was ridiculous. Her entire being shuddered with glee. Her hand wasn't removed from his cheek when she turned to the doc. 'Are there any further medications to give him?'

Sherry nodded. 'Of course. I'd be stupid if I didn't give Miles anything to take. He does have a wounded lung after all, but it's not punctured –– I guess it's more _grazed_, but I'd be careful.' She eyed the Ishvalan. 'No working for you for at least several months.'

The blonde trailed a thumb over Miles' face, still facing her. 'So the harpoon didn't––?'

'No, not entirely.' Sherry met her gaze and her expression softened slightly. 'Don't worry, sir, you haven't lost your man.'

At once Olivier stiffened. She glared daggers and snarled. 'Stop talking bullshit and get him fixed as soon as possible.' The General removed her hand and walked towards the exit, not turning back to look at Miles.

A smirk curled at the Major's lips.

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><p>The third time neither of them were drunk and that was what made it <em>real<em>. Miles had been out of bed for two days. He was slow on his feet but managed to complete the tasks given to him, and Olivier felt confident his wound would heal enough for him to, at least, move a little faster. Miles was aware she was deliberately giving him easy duties and it was only when he asked for something more challenging did she scold him.

Miles hadn't been scolded by her in ages, and she never failed to frighten him.

After a harsh explanation of his incapability and throwing a rather insulting name, Olivier threw him a pile of paperwork to finish and ordered him to leave.

She was upset, he could tell by the way her eyes failed to meet his.

In only a matter of days he would be leaving for Ishval, away from Briggs and her. Admittedly Miles was excited but in other ways he was miserable. He had really begun to like her, and their status at the moment was fragile considering previous events.

'Do you want to talk?' Miles asked gently, keeping the paperwork at his side whilst approaching her desk.

Olivier shook her head, still glaring. 'No. I want you to go away.'

'Sir––'

'_Don't_!'

He was quiet, watching her write. Olivier's handwriting was elegant and beautiful, flicking and slanted, but her fury caused her to wound the paper, creating holes and ink marks. She paused on the curve of a 'g', then rose her head to look at him.

'What?' Olivier's voice was quiet.

'I'll miss you.'

Miles knew he had hit a tender spot. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, before clicking the lid onto her pen, standing to her feet.

'You sound pathetic.'

He shrugged.

'What do you want, Miles?'

His heart skipped a beat when he spotted tears glistening in her eyes.

'Just go away.' Olivier struggled to hold back a sob. This made her angry, which only made her more upset which only made her more angry. It was a typical cycle for her. She hadn't felt this angry in ages. 'You're...'

The paperwork fell from his hands and he cupped her face, as if steadying her, keeping her sane. But his touch only unlocked what she was hiding from him. 'It's okay,' Miles whispered.

'No it's not,' she muttered, giving up caring about the tears falling from her cheeks. 'Dammit, Miles, if you end up dying in that godforsaken desert––'

'I won't die.'

'You'd better not.' Before he could tend to her tears, she wiped them away with her sleeve. 'I can't lose another...' She failed to continue. All her life she had taught herself to speak before thousands of people, taught herself how to _control_ an army of violent, untamed men. Yet before this single individual it seemed all of that self discipline was worthless. How dare he do this?

'You won't lose me, Olivier.'

Saying her name –– something so simple –– touched her. Miles' confidence around the woman was questionable. The fact he had used her name made her head spin. The way he said it –– just so _right_.

This time Miles kissed her. Gently and carefully, no roughness to it, holding her possessively to him. She didn't fight back. The energy to do such wasn't in her system. For once Olivier wanted to be dominated. His lips trailed over her jawline, showering her with affection whilst his hands pried apart the buttons to her jacket.

She claimed his face and brought his lips to hers again, desperate to have him as close as possible, helping each other out of their clothes, a barricade between them they wanted to remove so quickly. Olivier was aware of everything; conscious of every time their lips met, every time his hands caressed her skin, every time he moaned her name, pushing himself against her suddenly fragile body.

Spent and sleepy Miles held her to him. Ear pressed against his chest, she could feel his heart beat, pumping the blood, keeping him alive. His inhale echoed. He was still having slight difficulty to breathe and this hurt. But she felt protected. In his long arms, Olivier felt safe and secure and nothing could reach her.

It was just them.

Whatever "them" were.

'S–– Olivier,' he exhaled.

'Mm?'

'What is this?'

In the dim light he wouldn't be able to see her expression anyway, but he must have known she was puzzled when he quickly added:

'_Us_, I mean. What are we doing? Is this right?'

His question was reasonable and it made her realise he had more sense than she. Of course this wasn't right. If anyone were to discover their sleeping arrangements, they would be kicked out of the military for sure. However Olivier felt confident her men could keep a secret, if it actually got outside her office.

'We're not anything,' she said sharply, loathing how much reality got in the way.

There was such a long pause after that Olivier wondered if he had fallen asleep. Yet just before she began to drift off herself, she heard him softly whisper, 'Oh.'

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><p><strong>author's note<strong>: This was supposed to be a humour fic... Proof one can't control what they write ;D


	3. Chapter 3

**author's note**: Thank you to **RGaijin**,** Fatal Mars** and **InuNaruPokeAlchemist** for your wonderful feedback. I appreciate it!

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><p><span>One Room<span>  
><strong>Chapter 3.<strong>

* * *

><p>Miles mentally cursed when he dropped the telephone. Over the past several minutes he was attempting to receive signal to have a decent conversation with his Major General, but as far as his plans were going, the two would only manage to pass a quick and rather miserable "hello". This upset him more than it should, and in these few minutes he hated Ishval and its shitty environment.<p>

Nevertheless, he needed to work and pronto. As much as he loved to hear Olivier's voice, Miles had to put his priorities straight. After all, she was only his commanding officer and being his commanding officer she, of all people, should understand the situation.

He wasn't sure whether to feel flattered or worried she decided to check on how things were going. _Maybe_ Olivier had an ulterior motive, but Miles wouldn't dare ask.

Once she arrived the Major hurried for her, stopped and saluted. He wasn't conscious of the crooked grin over his face. For some reason he was excited she had appeared. Eager to show her the work created, Miles gently tapped her shoulder –– a move he usually did whenever enthusiastic to reveal something (Olivier found this childish) –– and escorted the woman into the small village of Kanda.

'The majority of workers have a day off,' Miles said. 'Yesterday was the worst: it was scorching and several people ended up fainting. I realised we had been working for too long, so decided to give everyone a break for the day. After all, several Ishvalans were insisting we stop building for a while.'

He frowned.

'I hope for good reason.'

Olivier was impressed. Already construction had started. In fact, several houses looked complete and the stench which usually controlled Ishval was gone completely. Life was starting to reveal itself again, and, put simply, this made her happy. Happy for the Ishvalans, their land and _him_.

For years and years Miles had dreamed of restoring the abandoned land. She had supported him as much as she could, but only recently Miles was given opportunities. He showed his independence through searching for people to help him and not needing his commanding officer to push him.

He was strong. In some ways, much stronger than she would ever be.

Strong enough to be a commanding officer.

This pulled a heart string.

Once Ishval was perfect again, would Miles abandon her and form an army of his own here? It would be a wise and sensible choice to make. Ishval needed protection. It needed an army; soldiers –– a _defence_. Miles was the man to make this all possible.

'I wouldn't ponder over what they think,' Olivier responded. 'If anything they should feel grateful with all you've done.' She stopped there, in case she might say something stupid and unlike herself.

Much to Olivier's displeasure she spotted a black-haired man approaching them, dressed in military trousers and a white, moist t-shirt. Mustang was working apparently, a spade over his shoulder whilst he beamed at her.

'How lovely to see such a radiant face.'

'Go die in a hole.'

'Charming as always,' Roy turned to Miles, and at once his tone lost its cheekiness. 'Lieutenant Quick wants to speak with you about the temple.'

The Major nodded. 'Is there something wrong?'

'No. Actually maybe. Some Ishvalans are complaining about the structure. It's too... showy.'

Miles nodded. 'The showy part wasn't my idea.' He faced Olivier. 'Do you mind if I leave you here, sir? I'll be right back.'

'Take your time,' Olivier replied. 'I can find some entertainment.' She avoided Mustang's gaze. In all honesty, the main reason she came was to see Miles. As much as she hated to admit it, Olivier had missed him dearly. However she should have known he would be busy. Even on days off.

His smile caused a flutter in her belly. Olivier looked away, waited until Miles' footsteps were gone before approaching a half constructed building. Her mind was too focussed on the man who had just deserted her to bother over Mustang, who happily followed her.

There was a beat.

'You should just tell him.'

At once her entire body stiffened. Olivier shot a horrific glare at the man. 'Tell him _what_?'

However Roy was immune to her looks. She was an old childhood friend and by now was used to it. 'I don't think I need to answer that. You got to admit, the work he's done is pretty good. I wouldn't have been able to do so much alone.'

Olivier folded her arms. 'Don't get cocky. You weren't the first with the idea. Miles would have managed without you either way.' The man smirked. Pride in her men wasn't unusual. He would have responded the same.

'It's benefited the military too,' he said. Roy met her gaze, before gesturing towards one of the tents nearby. 'Come inside and we'll have some tea. While this place is a dump, their tea is nice.'

Sighing, Olivier followed suit. She had nothing better to do anyway.

His tent was small, but big enough for three people. Whilst Roy dealt with the warm drink, Olivier removed a layer of clothing so she was left in her black turtleneck top, before finding a chair to sit on. Mustang passed her the drink and vacated the seat opposite. It was cooler in the tent.

'Nice of you to drop by,' Roy said. 'I think it touched Miles more than he showed.'

'How have the Ishvalans been treating you?' Olivier asked, deliberately swerving the topic off her Major.

'Better. In fact, _much _better. If it weren't for Miles and Scar, I'd have difficulty to get along with them... What's wrong?'

She looked at him abruptly, surprised with the question.

'You seem down.'

'I'm fine,' Olivier snapped.

'Really.'

She rolled her eyes.

Mustang's gaze remained fixed to her, before he stood to his feet and grabbed a bottle of alcohol. She observed whilst he poured two pints, took the warm drink off her and replaced it with the glass.

'It'll help.'

'Fuck you, Mustang.' Olivier pulled a crooked smile.

'I can relate.'

She scoffed, then realised Roy wasn't joking around. He was serious. Even concerned. Did he know? Did he remember the ridiculous scene at the pub where Olivier kissed Miles? Despite his dorky side, Mustang was smart.

Sometimes she hated that about him.

'He's not even my type.'

It came out before she could register the words. Olivier mentally cursed to herself, waiting for Roy to point and laugh. He didn't though. His expression softened, and he ran a hand through his messy hair.

Afraid she would say anything else, Olivier downed half of the pint in one go.

'... Fuck, I should stop doing that.'

'Nah, alcohol is good for you,' Mustang said.

'Uh-Huh. Like drugs, you mean?'

'Technically alcohol is a drug.'

'I knew that.'

He lowered his head and stared at the alcohol for a moment. And then: 'You _should_ tell him. In your own time, of course. It hurts, I know. Hell, I know.' Roy propped himself on his knee. 'I sympathise.'

'I don't need your pity.'

'Well you're having it whether you like it or not.' Mustang shrugged. 'Have you slept with him?'

Her reaction was applauding. Olivier looked as if Roy had grown a third limb. 'Excuse me?'

'It's just a question.'

'I hold many secrets, Roy. The majority your ears don't need to hear.'

She downed the rest of her drink and stood up. Dizziness made her stumble slightly, but she refused to admit she had drunk herself stupid. _Not again, dammit_. Fuck Mustang. Fuck Miles. Fuck Buccaneer's ghost. Fuck Briggs. Fuck herself. Fuck that one room at the hotel. Fuck _everything_.

Shoving the empty glass into Roy's chest, Olivier stormed out of the tent only to collide straight into Miles. He held her arms to support her, but she roughly pushed him away.

'Sir?'

Olivier blinked hard. A ball formed in her throat when she realised she was slowly losing her sober stature. The urge to cry was ridiculous. Everything was a mess.

'Can I... Can I sit somewhere?'

Her voice gave her away completely. Olivier snarled.

'_Anywhere_?'

'Of course,' Miles replied at once. He narrowed his brows, claimed her wrist and took her towards another tent. Sober or not, she knew it was his. _Smells of him_. Olivier loved his smell: gunpowder, aftershave... strawberries?

Wait, what?

'Your wound.' Olivier claimed his sleeve and looked up at him. Even though it had been weeks ago, the image of a harpoon stabbed into Miles' chest still made her panic, still made her upset. 'How is it?'

'Fine.' He was distracted. Miles didn't care about his wound. He cared about her. He was aware she was tipsy. _That damn Mustang_. Noting to say a few words to the superior officer, Miles took hold of Olivier's hand and led her towards his bed. 'You need to sleep.'

'I don't need to sleep,' she insisted.

'You do.'

'_Miles_! Don't tell me what to do.'

It was a tone he feared greatly. Miles froze at once. However he couldn't backdown. She needed to be disciplined as well and if no one had the guts to do such, then he needed to step in.

'Sir, you're drunk and the least you can do is get out of my way.'

He immediately regretted his words. Olivier wasn't in his way _at all_. A mixture of apologies zoomed through his head but never left his lips. They stared at each other for a couple of seconds. It was agonising. His ears burned.

Then her eyes lowered. He had hurt her. And this broke his heart. Of all people to harm, Olivier was the _last_ person.

'Huh.' It was quiet. Her voice was merely a whisper. 'I see.' She smiled, but it was a cruel, cold one. 'Then I have no reason to be here.'

'Sir...' He reached for her, but she slapped his hand away.

Olivier felt _pathetic_. She stood to her feet and made her way for the exit, determined to leave the Major as soon as possible. Whatever foolish mistakes she made afterwards were none of her concern. She could cry and scream into her pillow for being so silly. She just needed to go.

However she didn't cry. Not for anyone. Olivier swallowed, rolled back her shoulders and left the tent, her confidence returning. The fresh air helped immensely.

'Sir!' Miles called.

Olivier jarred her teeth. 'Go back to work, Major!'

But deep down she wished he would follow.

Like he always had.

* * *

><p>A year passed, but it felt like a lifetime.<p>

Like shy, just-broken-up school students, they slowly managed to come back into contact with each other. Their lack of contact was painful, and Miles was the first to admit this in a five sided letter to her. Only half a page was about Ishval's progress. The rest was about him and her. Just them.

It only took him twelve months to finally find the courage to write about such. Olivier was in an even worse position as she never had the guts, but she needed to keep her place as commanding officer and _stay_ that way. Nothing else.

Miles wasn't a mushy, romantic type. He was straight and to the point, admitting their sleeping together and argument was a mistake. All in all, Miles wished to make amends and she ordered him to return to Briggs whenever possible.

To her surprise, he was knocking on her office door after two days.

'You look well,' she said, nodding off his salute.

Miles smiled slightly. 'So do you, sir.'

Olivier stepped aside and he followed, closing the door behind him. Her office was how it usually was: organised, although he spotted several sharp weapons had been flung into the corner carelessly. She was either sharpening her blades, or practising and he had a hunch it was the former.

He felt at ease, which surprised him. Miles was expecting things to be awkward, but Olivier was mature enough to not mumble or fuss over such matters.

'Want a drink?' She asked.

'No, I'm okay.'

'So––' she vacated a seat opposite him, her expression hard to read. For once her bright, blue eyes failed to reveal anything she was feeling. Miles straightened his back, preparing for the worst. '––update me on Ishval.'

Was that it? 'Kanda is almost finished. A temple has been built, and already people are worshipping in there. The Ishvalans are capable of adding extra materials to the building, which reminds me: the military has been giving us lots of money to use on the restoration.'

Olivier nodded. 'Good.'

'Thank you, sir,' Miles said.

She rolled her eyes. 'It bugged me how the majority of us were sitting on our backsides. The military needed to do _something_. Fortunately Mustang was cooperative and Grumman was a little too keen to spend money. I'm glad it's been useful.'

'Absolutely,' Miles replied. 'So, has anything happened here whilst I've been absent?'

'Nothing exciting.' Her voice was blunt, like her gaze. Inside though she was shredding. Did this asshole have any idea... The amount of times she had considered making her way to Ishval again, to actually _apologise_ when it was his fault! Her shoulders slumped. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't anybody's.

Miles was about to speak again when she found her feet. There was a pause between them, and for a moment Olivier feared she would confess. Confess about what? That she _loved_ him?

It was an effort to not cringe.

Olivier didn't _love_.

'I'm sure you need to rest.' The Major General walked over to her desk. 'However you're not here to idle. I need you returning to your duties again in a couple of hours.'

'Yes sir.' Miles swallowed. His heart fell to the floor when she didn't respond, implying he leave. 'I'll...' However he didn't finish. Miles didn't know what to say. He pulled open the door and left.

* * *

><p>Olivier felt hollow. As if Miles had unlocked her, and removed anything inside which kept her stable and sane. It was damn infuriating. Sometimes she wished she could go up to him and kick him where the sun didn't shine –– hard.<p>

Karma was a bitch.

Throughout the day she managed to approach him with duties and paperwork, and Miles dealt with each order without a fuss. She wished he would backfire, jab at her, or make some stupid remark in which she had a reasonable excuse to fire him. Really though, she didn't want Miles to get fired.

He didn't deserve the pleasure.

It was past midnight. How on earth he knew she was awake, Olivier would never know, but she answered the door either way. He looked exhausted. Miles had only been in Briggs for a day, and he was _exhausted_. This irritated her. She cocked an eyebrow his way.

'Can I help you, Major?'

'I'm returning to Ishval.' And with that, he swivelled on his heel and walked away.

It took a moment for Olivier to register what he said. She stared after him, before anger bubbled inside her. 'Excuse me! You're _what_?' She reached out and grabbed his arm. 'Just who do you think you are?'

'I'm _tired_, Olivier, that's what I am,' Miles replied, his tone softer. When he looked at her, she was aware it wasn't just work which was making him tired. He was tired of _her_. Of their messing around. Nothing made sense anymore. 'I'm going back to Ishval.'

She continued to cling onto him. _I don't **cling**. _At once Olivier jolted back, as if he had electrocuted her. 'You're not needed here anyway. Go!' Even to her, she sounded childish.

Miles said nothing. He miserably turned away, shoved his hands in his pockets and made for the exit. Olivier stood there, breathing heavily, glaring daggers into his back, hating his smart thinking, hating his confidence, hating _him_ for making her _love_ him.

And then suddenly: '_Wait_!'

Olivier was naturally agile, but she hadn't moved so fast in her life. In a flash she grabbed hold of his collar and pulled him away from the door. Miles jumped in surprise, and she stole this advantage, barricading the exit completely. The Major heaved a sigh of relief.

'Sir, you scared me to death––'

'Don't go!' She blurted out. Olivier's heart raced. All sense of leadership she held had vanished in that instant. Now she was just a lonely girl asking a lonely boy to stay with her. Simple. _Too_ simple.

Miles was silent for a moment, and she wished he would say something. Anything. Olivier was conscious of her cheeks burning in embarrassment but she refused to remove herself from the door.

'W–– Tell me why I shouldn't.'

She tried to think of justified and clever reasons, but all she could say was: 'Because I don't want you to go.'

And for some reason, this answer was perfect.

Miles sighed. Then a smile appeared.

'We should sleep. It's late.'

It didn't make sense why he didn't return to his own quarter. Why he didn't realise he was heading straight for Olivier's room, not his own. But in some ways, it _did_ make sense. Walking away would be cowardice. Miles was anything but, and it felt natural to take her hand and guide her to her room.

They didn't kiss. Neither did they have sex. They didn't need to. They _knew_. Affection –– physical affection didn't matter in that moment. It was just them. Something they had wanted for so long. Now that it was happening they were both afraid. It was something they fantasised about. Not something they believed in.

Maybe she _was_ tired. However Olivier hadn't slept so quickly. So well. Miles tucked her close to him, convincing her he wouldn't leave whilst his arms wrapped around her waist. They were locked together securely. Nothing could pry them apart, not anymore, not even _themselves_.

When she woke up she wished she would fall back to sleep again.

Miles' smell still lingered. She inhaled it deep into her lungs, before groaning, covering her face into the pillow. A horrible, nauseating feeling swirled inside her stomach and for a moment she feared she would be sick. Then it hit her.

This wasn't nausea.

It was shame.

Miles deserved better. And by the look of things, he knew that.

Olivier scrunched her eyes closed and clung onto the mattress. That damn bastard. He hadn't a clue! Or maybe he did. That was probably why he deserted her in the first place. She was such a fool. Falling for him, believing him.

She laughed, impressed how similar she could be to her youngest sibling.

Not like Katherine wasn't supporting them from the very beginning. Annoying little smart-assed minx.

Then, whilst Olivier was mentally throwing curses, she heard it. The door closing gently, almost silently.

Coffee.

The mattress sunk beside her. Olivier continued to have her face in the pillow, but her eyes were wide. She stopped breathing, listening, alert.

'... Did I wake you?'

The voice belonged to Miles'.

She remembered how to breathe.

Olivier managed to raise her head off the pillow and look at him. Several strands of hair hung over his forehead. It made her smile slightly. She only saw him like this after a hard day's work, or after other personal activities.

It was... kinda cute.

His shades were off. His skin looked rough and darker. Obviously his years in Ishval had brought along sandstorms and a hot sun. She noticed his cheeks were even a little red. Sunburn? An Ishvalan receiving sunburn?

Well. Nothing was impossible.

That much she knew already.

Yet in that moment, Miles had never looked so beautiful to her.

'Sir?'

'I'm fine,' Olivier said, voice still a little sharp, but not the usual commanding tone. There wasn't any need for that. 'Is that coffee?'

Miles turned to the tray. Two mugs were placed atop. 'Oh!' He said, as if the tray had magically appeared. 'Yes.' He took hold of a mug and passed it to her. 'You still like it with milk, right?'

Nodding, Olivier took it from him. Miles relaxed, grabbed his drink and nestled beside her, wrapping a free arm around her waist. She exhaled happily, finally content with _them_. This was real; this was flawless. This was _right_. It always had been.

They laid together in comfortable silence for a while. They heard some of the soldiers upstairs getting ready for work; for their duties and backbreaking paperwork.

'Thanks for the coffee.'

'That's all right. You looked like you needed some.'

'I was asleep.'

'... Exactly.'

Olivier shuffled closer to him, and didn't speak for the next ten minutes. Miles began to ramble on about something –– something unrelated, possibly Ishval, she wasn't sure. She was too focussed on something else.

'Josh?'

It was his name. But between them, it was much more.

'Yeah?'

'I love you.'

He didn't respond. Didn't move. Olivier wasn't even sure if he were breathing. She, herself, was frozen. She wanted to turn around and look at his face, to read an answer, a response, _anything_. So God help her –– so _Mustang_ help her –– never in her life had Olivier been so open. It frightened her to the very core.

Miles' lips brushed against her ear, and she felt him smile. 'Olivier?'

Her heart was racing now. '... Yeah?'

'I love you,' he confirmed. Miles chuckled. It was a soothing noise. A happy sound. Relaxed. Content. 'I always have.'

A little, shy laugh came from her. 'Oh.'

This would cause problems for their positions, of course. She could already imagine Grumman going through a series of emotional stages for them both before finally deciding one of them retire.

Which, naturally, would be Miles.

And then there was Mustang. He would be cocky, and she gathered he would try and steal all the credit but once Olivier were to announce the reason behind Miles' retirement she sure hoped Mustang would be there to "catch" her fainting brother.

Fantastic.

* * *

><p><strong>End.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>author's note<strong>: That's it! Thank you for reading this fiction, and I'm so happy I stuck to it. I hate myself when I stray away from a certain story. Fortunately I kept with this one.

* * *

><p><span>Acknowledgments<span>:

1) I do not own _Fullmetal Alchemist_. Hiromu Arakawa is the creator.  
>2) Thank you for your lovely support! I shall now offer cookies.<br>3) And my kittehs. _Always_.


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